


Misplaced Hate

by sunaddicted



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Melkor remembers, Sweet, about the seduction, how it really went, our dark lords love each other very much, sweet!Melkor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone talks about how he had seduced Mairon, unaware of the fact that it had been his Little Flame who had completely robbed him of his reason with his astonishing and otherworldly beauty</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misplaced Hate

_Misplaced Hate_

“I can hear you thinking, Mel” Mairon exhales exasperatedly, bestowing a kiss on his temple and cuddling closer to his side, possessively splaying a hand on his muscled stomach “Shut your brain up”

The Vala smiles fondly at his bossy lover, burying a hand in his tangled hair; it’s only in the aftermath of lovemaking that he can enjoy seeing his Maia so disheveled and uncaring of his appearance, so carefree and primal “You ask too much” he whispers, only to receive a sigh as an answer before Mairon’s eyes close and a little but satisfied smile paints his kiss-reddened lips.

Melkor observes him, worshipping him softly with his gaze and cherishing in the warmth coming from his sleep-slackened body. He’s so beautiful with the black fan of his lashes gently brushing the pale skin stretched on his sharp cheekbones, the plump sensuality of his mouth begging for soft kisses and his brilliant mind – how could anyone name him ‘the Abhorred’ is a mystery to him, who’s privy to the unabridged version of his lover.

He hates it when everyone appoints him as the main cause for the fair and talented Mairon - one of Aulë’s most cherished Maiar - turning to the ‘dark side’, without even casting a careless look behind his shoulder to glimpse one last time at what he was leaving behind. It isn’t his fault that nobody had bothered to take a closer look and notice the innate darkness shadowing that heart everyone believed to be so pure, so dedicated.

He still remembers the day Mairon had pledged himself to his cause – mostly because it’s also the day of their first meeting and he doesn’t care that it is a disgustingly romantic thought: he loves Mairon, even when he’s cast aside for those blasted werewolves or has to endure endless rants about how elvish blood is impossible to remove from his favorite robe.

Manwë had managed to drag him to one of those hideous festivals Valar and Maiar alike enjoyed so much, thoroughly making fools of themselves while celebrating Eru-knew-what. Probably some new stupid and pale star Varda had added to her collection in the sky or Yavanna’s horrid-tasting vegetables – usually, it was meaningless things like those.

Since he had had no intention of joining the festivities, Melkor’s only way to pass the time was glaring murderously upon the dancing crowd and entertaining himself with some nasty comments, once again proving his own company was the best possible in Valinor.

It had been while looking around that he had noticed the veiled Maia slouched against the trunk of a tree, the posture clearly giving away boredom and disinterest in the celebrations. It was an unusual disposition for a Maia: those lower-ranking spirits loved merry gatherings and ‘having fun’ and even more unusual was the fact that nobody would go and try to involve the solitary Maia.

Finally, something curious enough to pique his interest and save him from the mind-crippling melodies that were being played. Stealthily, Melkor had approached the creature and more and more details came to enrich the picture: the shimmering and impalpable golden robes sheathed what clearly was a lithe and subtly muscled body of a male; the barely see-through veil let the eye spot the beginning of a thick, blood-red braid and the sharp edges of his face; his ears were pointed and pierced in order to welcome gold and pearls in the cartilage; the healing scorch marks on his graceful and pale hands gave away his position as a blacksmith in Aulë’s forges.

Despite his caution, the Maia had raised his head towards him and straightened his shoulders “How may I help you, my Lord?” he had asked and Melkor wasn’t sure if the lilt in that melodic voice was teasing: it had unnerved him the idea of talking to someone faceless, completely unable to read his mind from the eyes of which he didn’t know the color yet.

The Vala had crowded the Maia personal space as much as possible, in the attempt of making him uncomfortable “How about telling me your name?” he challenged, subtlety never having been his forte.

The Maia’s laugh had come unexpected, soft and rich like the murmuring of a waterfall; it’s an unchangeable trait of his lover, who still gifts Melkor with his laughter when they relax in the safe solitude of their rooms “I’m called Mairon, my Lord”

Melkor recalls perfectly rolling the name on his tongue as if tasting it, his mind working to find the perfect intonation to purr it out aloud “And why does ‘the Admirable’ hide his pretty face?” he had inquired, lowering his head to better hear that low and silky voice.

Mairon had balanced on his tiptoes to directly whisper in his ear, his breath making the golden veil brush against the sensitive shell and enveloping him in a honey-and-lavender perfumed cloud “Because I don’t wish for everyone to feast upon my beauty” One of those hand curled around his wrist and the Maia’s touch was so hot that Melkor had been sure it was burning his skin “But I can show you, my Lord, if you so desire”

The Maia hadn’t even waited for his answer and tugged him further into the forest, his footsteps unwavering even in the steadily diminishing light and roughening path, leaving the Vala with no other options but following him into the dark. Had he been a lesser spirit, he would have tried resisting Mairon and pretended to know where they were heading to; but he was the mightiest of the Valar and he wasn’t afraid of a Maia who would never match his power – that was back then: now Melkor is well aware of the fact his lover could seriously challenge him, if he so wanted.

They had entered a clearing bathed in starlight, made brighter by the fact it reflected in a pool of crystalline water. Despite not being particularly fond of such places, he couldn’t deny it held a raw and untouched beauty that appealed to him as he had let his gaze rake upon the golden-clad figure in front of him.

“Don’t you want to see me, my Lord?” Melkor had nodded his affirmative answer “Then come and unveil me, my Lord” Mairon had had that strange habit to repeat ‘my Lord’ over and over, making the mightiest of the Valar feel deliriously empowered.

The Vala still recalls perfectly the anticipation that had thrummed through his veins as his fingers had grasped the veil, the way he had drawn small circles with his fingertips to feel the softness of the cloth and how he had slowly uncovered Mairon inch by inch, prolonging his own torment. The pale skin hadn’t been a surprise – he had seen his hands, after all – but the plump mouth had been a pleasant revelation: he had imagined the Maia to have thin lips, well paired with the sharp confidence he projected. It had followed a perfectly common nose that practically went unnoticed as he had first seen his eyes: big and framed by black lashes, the irises burnt like a fire and were as enthralling as dancing flames, drowning blown-wide pupils in their swirling magma.

“Am I worth the tribute of my own name?” Mairon had asked cheekily, treating Melkor to the first smile of many more that would come.

He hadn’t replied, busying himself with getting completely rid of the veil to also have a look upon his hair. Almost unconsciously, his fingers had quickly set to work to undo the braid to satisfy the craving to see those strands spill gracefully and curl like tentacles around those thin hips.

Melkor snorts quietly and buries his nose in his lover’s wild mane, glad to find the familiar scent of honey and lavender trapped in there. Everyone talks about how he had seduced Mairon, unaware of the fact that it had been his Little Flame who had completely robbed him of his reason with his astonishing and otherworldly beauty “Perfect” he murmurs, repeating the compliment he had payed the Maia in the clearing “So very perfect”

Mairon hums in his sleep, soaking up the praise even while unconscious: he’s so stupidly vain that makes Melkor want to smother him in compliments just to see him preen and flush with pleasure. Back in Valinor, under Varda’s creations, the Maia had been able to hide behind a smirk “Thank you, my Lord”

“Melkor” he had offered, icy-blue eyes still trained on the other spirit’s corporeal form “Call me Melkor”

The Maia had stepped closer, so that he had to crane his neck back to look up in his face “Melkor, Mighty Arising” A hand had dared to slip in the Vala’s black and unruly mane, fingertips massaged softly his scalp as if to soothe him “We’ll rule our empire so exquisitely together”

“Empire?” Melkor had asked frowning slightly, mildly frightened at the prospect of someone knowing of his heart’s desire: no one should have been able to read his depths so easily and perfectly without badly interpreting his designs.

“I know everything of your projects, my Lord, and I long to help you make them real” The Maia had tugged him down, directly speaking his words on his mouth “Take everything I am and make me your weapon”

Nobody had ever offered themselves so explicitly and eagerly as that spirit: it stunned Melkor “Not my weapon” Their lips brushed together, giving life to a brief and electrifying friction “My Lieutenant”

Their essences had already mingled together, glad to have found a kindred soul, when they kissed; they sealed the fate of Eä with their shared breaths and tangling tongues, standing defiantly in the middle of Eru’s creation and carving a place for themselves with the strength of their combined powers.

“I love you, my Little Flame”

Mairon stirs, blinking owlishly at him “I love you, too, Mel” he declares with a sleepy voice “But I’ll knock you out, if you don’t shut up and let me sleep” he threatens, bestowing a kiss on the Vala’s neck.

Melkor chuckles and burrows deeper in the warm furs surrounding them, letting go of his thoughts to rest next to his lover.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something sweet to distract myself from another angsty WIP!   
> Thanks for reading <3


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